


The Wise One

by Fiona James (Bluewolf458)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 18:12:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1867539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluewolf458/pseuds/Fiona%20James
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock has gone through the Guardian of Forever to Pre-Reform Vulcan; Kirk follows to retrieve him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wise One

**Author's Note:**

> First appeared in Naked Times 2

The Wise One

by Fiona James

McCoy stood staring at the tricorder for what seemed like centuries. "There's no mistake, Jim. He went through."

Kirk looked at the bleak structure with a combination of hatred and wonder, remembering what it had cost him once before; Edith and damn near the whole Federation as well.

"Guardian," he called at last, "where has he gone?"

"He has stepped into the past."

"Which past?" Kirk persisted.

The images began to flow through the Guardian, causing Kirk to nearly gasp aloud as he realized that Spock was lost in the ancient, violent history of his own world. Thousands of strong Vulcan warriors marched before his eyes, anger and tribe-lust on their faces.

"I'm going after him, Bones," Kirk decided with finality. He took a step nearer to the Guardian.

McCoy grabbed his arm. "You can't, Jim - it's suicide!"

***

"We are a warrior race," the Holy Man told his audience. "And that is only right. Courage and strength are to be honored above cowardice and weakness.

"But what is courage? What is strength?

"Is it strong or courageous never to admit defeat - to fight to the death, knowing that when you are dead there may be none left to defend your land, no one to protect the women who bore your children, the children who may be made slaves before they are old enough to bear arms? Or is it strong and courageous to admit when you are beaten - to retreat, hide, build up your strength again to fight anew?

"Or is it stronger to refuse to fight because there is no logical reason to fight, and indeed every logical reason to refrain from fighting? I say that that is true strength, the sign of a man - the man who will not fight because he knows that by fighting, everything is lost.

"You may think that by not fighting, everything is lost. You may think that if you do not fight your enemy will walk in, take everything that is yours, enslave your children, and indeed that could be so. Therefore I do not say 'refuse to defend yourselves'. I say 'why attack others without cause?'

"What reason led to your last war? What disagreement? Was it indeed a disagreement, or was it merely a minor misunderstanding that could have been settled by discussing matters? Or was it caused by one man's greed?

"How many of your comrades have died needlessly in another man's quarrel? Because one man, one Warlord, hungered for more land than he could possibly control, there was a war in Sas-a-Shar twenty years ago. You all know the results. Two armies slaughtered, dying men still seeking another and still another to kill before they themselves died... a handful of survivors, and the entire area laid waste. What is there now in Sas-a-Shar that anyone would want? And that could be the fate of our entire world if we do not stop to think before we fight."

The Holy Man gazed over his audience as if daring them to question his words. Then he turned abruptly and made his way to the small tent that was his home. As he entered, he heard the buzz of voices begin as if the men gathered there considered that if they could not see him, he could not hear them.

Jim Kirk sighed wearily as he sank onto the cushions that formed his bed. He was getting tired of repeating that speech and just a little doubtful of the logic of preaching to Vulcans a form of pacifism based on a couple of Terran proverbs that hadn't even been invented yet.

He had to admit, though, that McCoy had been correct. To have come through the Guardian totally unprepared would have been suicidal; he had at the time resented the waste of a week during which McCoy had given him Vulcan ears and eyebrows and he had studied the customs and history of pre-Reform Vulcan; but of course it had not made any difference to time at this end of history and it had in fact proven invaluable. The translator insert was as valuable - pre-Reform Vulcan was rather different to the form he knew, and his accent when speaking Vulcan was far from pure. The insert solved both problems.

What he was doing, too, was in no way a breach of the Prime Directive; the history tapes had been clear on that. Nomadic Holy Men preaching pacifism and the illogic of war were, if not common, at least common enough for all men to know of them. He would have expected them to have short lives terminated violently, but in fact they were honoured and listened to. The reasoning seemed to be that by preaching something against the racial norm they had to be insane. The insane were divinely inspired - modern Vulcan might not admit to any religious beliefs, but pre-Reform Vulcan certainly did - and therefore should be listened to with respect, if not agreement. It was possible that the activities of these Holy Men had paved the way for the eventual Reforms.

Kirk had even found himself asked for advice more than once in the interminable weeks he had spent wandering this, the area of Spock's disappearance - the area where the city of Shi-Khar would one day stand. He had given that advice, basing his words on the early Reform laws, glad that he had, from curiosity, discussed these with Spock more than once; to have suggested anything more radical would certainly have been dangerous.

Would this chieftain come asking for private speech with him?

A respectful cough from the tent door gave him his answer. "Enter."

The local chieftain came in, head held erect as if to indicate that he had no respect for insane babbling, but Kirk knew by now that this usually meant nothing more than personal pride. The lowered eyes admitted inferiority. The man was followed by another, who was wearing the dull saffron robe of a slave, and whose head was lowered so that Kirk could not see his face. The slave stopped just inside the tent door, ignored by his master.

"You speak convincingly, Holy One," the chieftain began, "and your words confirm what I have sometimes thought. My father was a survivor from the Sas-a-Shar War, and he was crippled for life by his wounds. He gained nothing save pain... A warrior's lot, perhaps, but what is left for a warrior who cannot fight?"

"Little, if war was all he ever knew."

The chieftain nodded. "Yet I cannot - will not - weaken myself so that my neighbors think I can be overrun at will. I have responsibility to my men; to the women of the tribe, the children, and the fathers who are not yet of age to take up arms."

"I do not counsel that you do. All I suggest is that you do not attack your neighbors without first attempting to solve your differences peacefully; that you attempt to have differences between your own warriors settled without a fight to the death. Even if they feel an insult has been offered that can only be effaced by blood, let the duel end with the first shedding of blood. Thus honor would be satisfied without the loss to you of a fighting warrior."

"I will consider your words." The chieftain snapped his fingers and the slave came forward from the doorway. "You travel alone, Holy One. It is not fitting that you lack a slave; I would give you this one. I will be honest - he has the mind of a child. Some accident, perhaps; I have known it happen. He does not appear to lack intelligence and learns quickly. I have, myself, taught him the necessary skills of a personal slave. He lacks experience - his work was in the fields until recently - but that will make it easier for you to adapt his abilities to your requirements."

Kirk knew he could not refuse, although he did not want a slave... To refuse a gift was the greatest insult that could be offered; besides, Holy Men usually did have a personal slave to fetch and carry for them... and to provide a means of sexual relief in a world where no normal man over the age of fifty ever touched a woman for fear of losing his strength as a warrior. To refuse would create suspicion.

"I thank you," he said evenly, realizing that it was probably sheer chance that such a gift had not already been made; Holy Men who lacked a slave did so because their slave had died, and only lacked one until they were given another.

The chieftain nodded and strode out. Kirk turned his attention to his new acquisition, wondering what the hell he was going to do with the man. He could certainly use his services as a servant - for the moment - but later, when he returned through the Guardian? What then?

"What is your name?" he asked gently. The man shook his lowered head. "Don't you have a name?"

"I have nothing that you do not give, master."

Kirk stiffened. That voice! He rose in a single movement that had become practiced, took the two steps that separated him from his slave, put a hand under his chin and lifted the bowed head.

"Spock!"

The dark eyes looked back at him without recognition, and he remembered the chieftain's words: 'He has the mind of a child.'

"Oh, Spock," he murmured. "Whatever happened to you?"

***

Although he wanted to get Spock back through the Guardian and into McCoy's care as quickly as possible, Kirk knew he would have to be careful. He could only return from his point of arrival. He could not head straight back for it; the leaders through whose lands he had passed would certainly think it strange if he were to return so soon. No, he would have to return following a wide circle that took him through other territories. Fortunately, Spock appeared to be in excellent physical condition and bore no marks of injury or ill-treatment.

Kirk quickly learned, however, that Spock's training as a personal slave had been thorough. As darkness fell, he began to prepare for bed as had become his custom. He realized that he would have to make use of Spock's services if only to allay suspicion, and called on him to fetch water. When Spock returned, Kirk began to undress, only to find that the Vulcan was there helping him remove his clothes, then washing him before he had the chance to protest.

Kirk returned to the cushions that formed his bed, guiltily aware that although he could give Spock a blanket, he could not, without arousing suspicion - again - give him anything soft to lie on. It would be so easy to slip up...

Spock took the water out, and Kirk heard a quick splashing. Guilt again stabbed him. Of course Spock would want to wash - his innate cleanliness would make it unbearable for him not to - and he should have told Spock to wash here, inside the tent.

The Vulcan returned, naked and carrying his clothes. Kirk indicated the blanket he had thrown to the opposite side of the tent, but before he could speak, Spock had put his clothes down and crossed to kneel by Kirk's bed - and with a shock, Kirk realized that Spock expected to share his master's bed; undoubtedly expected to be sexually used. And with that realization came another; the chieftain would undoubtedly expect some sort of oblique comment on Spock's... service... in the morning.

And yet - how could he so abuse his friend?

Kirk knew that if Spock had come to him, in full possession of his senses, he would have welcomed him and taken him gladly; sometimes he had not known how he managed to control his hunger for that beloved body - a hunger which had driven him to woman after undesired woman in a frantic attempt to sublimate it, to transfer it to a 'normal' sex object, for surely a Vulcan would not understand how any man could possibly desire another. If Edith had not died... But she had, and there was no one else he had ever known who could have drawn him from Spock and from his need of Spock. But how could he take a Spock who did not know to whom he submitted?

The Vulcan's hands reached out to massage Kirk's shoulders, and the human knew he was lost. All he could do was be gentle...

With an inarticulate murmur, he reached out and pulled the unresisting Vulcan into a tight embrace.

***

Another day should see them back at his point of arrival, Kirk estimated gratefully. The months he had spent here had given him a unique insight into pre-Reform Vulcan, but it was one he could easily have foregone. As a Holy Man, he was free to come and go unhindered, but he had seen, mixed with the warrior's code of honor, hardship and cruelty.

Not that this was unique, he knew. Earth had known races that were a peculiar mixture of honor and barbarism, but Earth had never known a period when that sort of culture was planet-wide, as he knew Vulcan's had been.

Yet in a strange way, he would loathe the return to his own time... for once back through the Guardian, what would happen to Spock?

In the weeks since he was 'given' Spock, the two men had developed an oddly satisfying relationship. Kirk, of course, knew and loved Spock; and all that kept him from complete happiness was the knowledge that Spock did not know in whose arms he spent his nights.

And Spock? Kirk had set out to gain the Vulcan's trust and affection, and was pretty sure he had succeeded. Spock was a willing and responsive partner... and yet... Kirk shuddered mentally at the thought that if - when - Spock regained his memory, he might turn from Kirk in disgust if he remembered the way his captain had taken him. And if he did not remember... that would be almost as bad, for Kirk would still lose the joy of holding him, caressing him... loving him.

They had fallen in with a small tribe this last evening, and Kirk wearily prepared to give his 'sermon' for the last time. There was no hesitation in his delivery of it, however, and he could see that most of his hearers were impressed. Of course, a small group such as this would see the advantages in not fighting, for they lacked the battle strength to stand much chance against a more powerful opponent.

The chieftain of the group, however, did not appear to be influenced by the Holy Man's arguments, and Kirk thought he could guess why. The one sure way of enlarging the group was by attacking still smaller groups and absorbing the losers - if not the warriors, then at least the non-combatants who, in due course, would become warriors.

Kirk returned to his tent, sure that this chieftain would not come to him seeking advice. In a way, it would be a relief, yet he would have liked to leave on a note of success.

To his surprise, however, the man did come. "You speak persuasively, Holy Man."

Kirk had heard that, or so many variations of the same meaning, so often that he had finally realized it was a standard opening to a conversation.

"Yet it seems to me that you would turn us all into women."

"Were circumstances to demand it, women could undoubtedly fight as fiercely as warriors," Kirk said evenly, his mind on certain of his female security officers.

"Women are fools, without a thought beyond their children."

"If they are given no opportunity to think beyond their children, how can they have other thoughts?" Kirk asked. "Or perhaps they do, but have learned that their thoughts are not valued by the men of the tribe. If they were asked, your women might prove to have thoughts that would surprise you."

"Would you give women ideas beyond their place?"

"No, but I would have them free to find their place." Kirk spoke clearly, knowing that the chieftain would surely have some of his men outside. Sexual equality was a revolutionary idea that he had considered 'not advisable' to include in his 'sermon', though he had hinted at it whenever possible.

"A woman's place is to breed strong sons."

"Only sons? Not daughters?"

"Daughters are worthless.|"

"Tell that to the tribes who found themselves without sufficient female children to replace their mothers when they grew old." Kirk knew he was on safe ground here; there was at least one well-authenticated case in the history tapes of a group whose practice of female infanticide had indeed resulted in the extinction of their tribe. He followed up the chieftain's stunned look, pressing home his point. "You see? Daughters are necessary too. And if it requires the union of male and female bodies to breed offspring, surely the union of their minds could also breed... something valuable?"

"Your ideas are dangerous," the chieftain said, his voice deadly quiet. "I had heard of you, preacher, and wondered. Now I have heard you, I know it is indeed so. I think it better for our people if you die. Will you hold to your beliefs and die without protest, I wonder, or will you cry out and struggle?" A knife slid from his wide sleeve into his hand with an ease that showed much practice.

*Not a man of honor,* Kirk reflected. *An assassin.* "What will your people say when I am found dead?"

"They will be horrified - and none more so than I. What heretic would dare to kill a Holy Man and his slave?"

"Then you came without your bodyguard."

"Of course." He moved forward menacingly. Kirk remained motionless, watchful and ready to defend himself, but knowing he was vulnerable to the superior Vulcan strength.

And then there was a sharp cry.

"No!"

Spock flung himself against the chieftain, grappling with him, the instinct of passive obedience instilled into him as a slave overcome by his fear for the gentle master who had become so important to him.

Kirk snatched up a heavy water jug, watching his chance. The robed head swung clear for a moment; Kirk brought the jug down with all his strength and the man went limp as the heavy pot shattered.

Kirk caught Spock's arms. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, master. Master, forgive me... I could not... "

"You saved my life, Spock."

"You always say we should not fight."

"True. But do I not also say that we can defend ourselves if others attack us without cause?" He turned towards the door of the tent. "Bring him," he instructed. "His people can... deal with him."

The warriors came running as the Holy Man appeared, followed by the slave carrying the tribal chief.

"He fell and hit his head," Kirk explained quietly. "Care for him. The blow may have hurt his mind."

They took the man, and Kirk beckoned to Spock. "Come," he said, turning back to the tent.

Inside, he swung around again to face his friend, but the words he meant to say remained unspoken. The Vulcan was clearly trembling, and Kirk caught his arms again. "You said you were all right, Spock."

"I am unhurt, Master, but... he nearly killed you!" Forgetting the attitude proper to a slave in his anguish, he caught Kirk to him in a fierce embrace. The human responded, willingly surrendering to the ecstasy of experiencing - this once - the illusion that Spock knew him and wanted him as much as he wanted Spock.

They sank onto the cushions, caressing each other with a passion Kirk had never before known with any partner. Kirk gasped, moaning, "Love me, Spock... love me.'"

And Spock loved him, fiercely, wildly, passionately... tenderly. And as their bodies convulsed in climax, Spock cried out one word.

"Jim!"

***

Slowly, they spiralled down to rational thought, the Vulcan's head heavy on the human's shoulder. At last, Kirk murmured, "Spock?"

The Vulcan raised his head to look into Kirk's eyes. "Yes, Captain."

"When did you start remembering?"

Spock pulled free and sat up, his back to Kirk. "I did not 'start' remembering. Recognition was sudden and immediate - although I think I knew you all the time; without knowing who you were or how I knew you, you were familiar to me."

"I'm glad of that... But, Spock, why did you come through the Guardian?"

The Vulcan was silent for a moment, then slowly, as if the words were being dragged out of him, he said, "You have lived here for many weeks, Captain. You know the customs - in particular, you know the customs of the warriors. After they become of age to fight, they can never touch a woman lest they lose their strength; so they turn to other men, either slaves or - more often - their fellow warriors. Even after the Reforms, the custom of male bonding was still honored. Even today - in our time - it is accepted as a sign of great strength and masculinity on the rare occasions when it occurs.

"But I know that humans regard it differently. Even though they may accept such a relationship, it is with mere tolerance, a tendency to think of it as being weak and effeminate - the very opposite viewpoint.

"I was drawn to you, Captain, as to a fellow warrior I admired and respected - and loved," he added so softly that Kirk barely heard him. "But I knew that you would not understand why...

"I came back through the Guardian to try to escape from something I could no longer control, and as I came, I knew I must forget my impossible longing for you. It seems that the passage through the Guardian indeed made me forget. And then you followed, and gave me... The dream was no longer impossible. It happened, and I remember everything."

"And will you come back with me?"

"How can I? Captain, now that I have known your embrace, I could bear even less being beside you, knowing that in your own world and time you are a heterosexual human - "

Kirk pulled him back down again. "Now you're being silly," he said. "Even though you didn't consciously know me, I certainly knew you. I knew what I was doing."

"But I could sense... There was an unwillingness in you - "

"Because you - the Spock I knew - could not choose your own response. Only for that. I felt guilty for taking you - but I wanted you too much to resist."

"You wanted me... ?"

Kirk silenced Spock's awed whisper with a kiss.

***

McCoy grinned broadly as the two familiar shapes appeared through the arch of the Guardian. "Welcome back, gentlemen. Any trouble, Jim?"

"Nothing to speak of, Bones. The cover story held up perfectly."

"How long were you through there?"

"About ten months - Spock, how long were you there before I arrived?"

"I am not certain, Captain. The amnesia... "

"Amnesia?" McCoy snapped.

"He went through trying to forget the present," Kirk explained. "It meant he forget everything until I found him and reminded him."

"It must have been more than a year, however," Spock offered. Kirk looked at him, apology and an infinite promise of compensation in his eyes.

"Well, let's get back to the ship," McCoy said briskly. "I want to check you both over, and then I've got Jim's ears to bob. Spock - " he added slyly, "now that you've experienced both, wouldn't you say that modern human emotionalism is more logical than pre-Reform Vulcan barbarism?"

"On the contrary, Doctor, for the last ten months or so I was in the presence of extreme logic. Although I must admit it took an 'emotional human' to teach my people the beginnings of logic."

"It did?" McCoy said blankly.

"Certainly."

"How do you know that?" Kirk asked curiously. "I was only one of many Holy Men who all preached pacifism - I deliberately chose a role that wouldn't change anything."

"Don't you know the name my people gave you, Captain?"

Kirk shook his head. "I didn't know they called me anything."

"They did, Captain. 'The Wise One'. They called you 'Surak'."

 


End file.
